


on a crescendo

by Airheart



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airheart/pseuds/Airheart
Summary: Team Prime reunites, and Optimus makes a promise





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Astralhare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astralhare/gifts).



> a crash course on some terms/concepts visited in this fic, pulled from various continuities:  
> - **the Dome** : the Great Dome in the center of Iacon, where the Council is located  
> - **Festival of Lost Light** : celebration in honor of the deceased  
> - **Chief Justice** : highest Cybertronian lawmaker and judge  
> - **Forgefire Parliament** : governing body on Caminus, one of Cybertron's colonies  
> - **Solus, Onyx, Micronus, and Optimus Prime (4 of the 13 original Primes)** : Solus was murdered by Megatronus, and the Well of AllSparks formed where she fell. Onyx was fatally injured in the ensuing battle, and laid to rest in the Well. Micronus, his best friend, went with him, and Optimus carried them both into the Well, intending himself to be reincarnated as a regular Cybertronian in order to serve the people and learn from them  
> - **vorn** : Cybertronian unit of time, ~83 years our time. I use it like we use "decade"  
> hopefully it's not too confusing. and hopefully you enjoy it! i sorta deus ex machina-ed the whole "council hates optimus" thing out but, lbr, canon probably would have done something similar
> 
> happy valentine's day! :~)

It took several days to soothe the Council. Of course they wanted a full account of Optimus’s whereabouts since the final battle of the war; a story which took many hours and was made even longer by Councilors continually interrupting him with questions. Their apparent lack of respect for him angered Ratchet, but Optimus was patient. The long trip back to Cybertron had given him some time to research and prepare his statements, and he answered with dignity and grace, never once raising his voice. He was well-versed in such proceedings, and he knew the Council would not answer his questions until he had satisfied theirs.

His primary concern was his former team. All Autobots had been granted amnesty for crimes committed during the Great War, but, like Ratchet, many of the prominent figures had been informally banished, sent on arbitrary missions all over the galaxy.

“Our hands were tied,” said Councilor Lightsweep. “If we had charged any Autobot, imprisoned or exiled them—especially anyone closely involved with you, the Prime—the people would have been outraged. As much as this Council disapproves of Autobot actions during the war, the vast majority of the public still supports the cause.” She shook her head. “We decided that random, off-planet missions were the best compromise.”

The argument went in circles for hours after that, always ending up in the same place: Optimus Prime and his Autobots were still quite popular on Cybertron, and the Council had not acted in the best interest of their constituents. It was satisfying to watch the Councilors grow more and more frustrated in contrast to Optimus’s calmness.

In the end, the Council acquiesced once Optimus suggested he invoke his right to a public trial under the Chief Justice. They gave him the hailing frequencies for his old team and the reassurance that Autobots would be allowed to live on Cybertron without any further harassment from the Council (although Bumblebee would face a steep fine for his appropriation of the museum’s space bridge).

“You were going to threaten a public trial all along, weren’t you?” asked Ratchet, as he and Optimus left the Dome. “Why not lead with that?”

“The Council deserved a chance to defend their decision,” Optimus said.

“And what if they _had_ taken you to trial?”

“I would have gladly gone through with it.”

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. “Confident, I see.”

“Chief Justice Flamecast is a fair and noble judge.”

“Flamecast?”

“Of the Titan Caminus,” Optimus said pleasantly. “She served on the Forgefire Parliament for several vorns before being appointed here, on Cybertron.”

“And…?” Ratchet slowed down, looking thoughtful. Then it dawned on him. “And, the Camiens worship Primes. She would never convict you.” He laughed. “That’s quite a stroke of luck, Optimus.”

Optimus only smiled in response to that, and said, “Let us not waste any more time, old friend. Team Prime is long overdue for a reunion.”

* * *

They met at Gleam, a new bar in the western sector of Iacon, a few weeks later. It had taken some time for them to make the trip back home from their various stations, but it was well worth the wait. They talked late into the night, although Bulkhead and Smokescreen dominated the conversation, sharing their stories with great gusto. Ratchet listened, mostly, his spark brimming with fondness for these young bots. The years apart had done nothing to diminish their friendships—if anything, it seemed to have strengthened them. During the war, there was always an underlying tension no matter what they did, but now, in peaceful times, they could relax. Old inhibitions faded, and when Ratchet disengaged Undertone from his arm, even Ultra Magnus pressed him for details on his mission.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Ratchet said, as Undertone went to get his own drink from the bartender. “The Council kicked me off-planet, just like they did with the rest of you.”

“But you got a Mini-con!” Smokescreen exclaimed. “None of the rest of us did.”

“They must have thought an old wreck like me needed the help.”

“They should have paired you up with one of us,” said Arcee, “that would have made more sense.”

Ratchet shook his head. “The new Council has not shown itself to be particularly sensible thus far,” he said. “It took days to get them to agree to bring you all home.”

“Yeah, how _did_ you manage that, doc?” asked Wheeljack. Ratchet let the nickname slide, and gestured to Optimus.

“It was all Optimus’s work. Well, that, and a bit of luck. The Council never took any of us to trial or wrote anything into law, so there was nothing to formally reverse. For the most part, they just wanted to know what had happened after…” He hesitated. “After the AllSpark was returned to the Core.”

All optics turned to Optimus. They had avoided the topic of his death thus far, simply relieved that he had returned, but of course they could not ignore it forever.

“I can’t say that I haven’t wondered about that myself,” Arcee said at length. “I mean… I really thought that you were gone. I didn’t want to believe it, but there wasn’t anything to suggest otherwise.”

“That’s the second time you’ve cheated death, Optimus,” said Smokescreen. “How’d you do it?”

“I have never cheated death, Smokescreen,” said Optimus. He reached out and squeezed Smokescreen’s shoulder. “It has always been a result of the tireless efforts of my family that I have survived, and for that, I am eternally grateful. This time was no different.”

He gave them an abridged version of the story he had told to the Council, glossing over the details of his training, and, Ratchet noticed, leaving out the parts where he was left weak when the Primes reclaimed their power. Bumblebee supplemented with his own experiences during the fight against Megatronus, and the rest of the team listened raptly, even neglecting their drinks. More than once, a server lingered at a nearby table, eavesdropping on the story. Ratchet didn’t blame them. In the Council’s chambers, he had been completely absorbed in Optimus’s words, which made the Councilors’ constant interruptions even more annoying. This time, though, he simply focused on the sound of Optimus’s voice, rather than what he was saying.

He had missed that voice.

When the story was finished, no one spoke for a long moment.

Then Wheeljack said, “Pits. You weren’t kidding about that luck.”

A murmur of assent went around the table, and Optimus inclined his head.

“It has been an enlightening experience,” he said, “and a humbling one. It reminded me of my original purpose—protecting Cybertron, and the people here.”

“Wait,” Bulkhead interrupted, “are you saying you’re retiring?”

Optimus shook his head. “No. My very nature as Prime means  I can never retire, Bulkhead. I will continue to serve as your leader, if you will have me.”

“Of course we will,” said Arcee, right away, and her brothers nodded. “I don’t care what the Council thinks—you saved us all. I’ll be scrapped before I let anyone forget that.”

“Your loyalty is deeply appreciated,” said Optimus. “There are no words sufficient to describe what it means to me. And as you would endeavour to keep my memory alive, you must also remember those who gave their lives fully to our cause—the ones who did not return. The Festival of Lost Light is approaching. I hope  all of you will be in attendance.”

One by one, the team nodded, and the conversation slowly turned to lighter things until the bartender gave the last call and the bar began to empty.

* * *

 The Festival of Lost Light was a bittersweet affair. Word spread fast that Optimus Prime had returned, and he and Ratchet saw many old friends that day. There was not an idle moment once Jazz and Ironhide found them, and Elita-One’s joints nearly seized from excitement when she saw Optimus. There were many stories to share, but once dusk fell, the entire city quieted as bots began preparing their lights. The first went up just as stars began to appear in the sky, and soon the air was full of soft golden lights, each one dedicated with a name.

Arcee dedicated two of them, and Smokescreen squeezed her shoulder as they watched the lights float lazily away.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack made one for Seaspray, and more for each of their fellow Wreckers.

Optimus only lit one light, with no name written on it, for every bot who had no one to remember them.

Ratchet’s were for friends Optimus had never known. He didn’t explain them, and Optimus didn’t ask. They were quiet as they watched the lights, occasionally reaching out to touch one and read the names—most, they did not recognize, but they paid their respects nonetheless.

“I thought I would be lighting one of these for you, when I returned,” Ratchet said at last. “ _If_ I ever returned after the Council sent me away, I told myself. As if a silly light would have helped anything.”

Optimus looked at him, then said, “Come with me, Ratchet. There is something I want to show you.”

“What is it?”

“I will explain.”

He took Ratchet to the Well of AllSparks, and Ratchet couldn’t help but think of how they had parted. He looked into the Well, at its iridescent, swirling contents, and said, “I forgot how enormous this thing is. I haven’t looked at it in ages.” He paused for a beat. “I couldn’t.” Then he looked up at Optimus. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

For a long moment, Optimus stared into the Well.

“As much as the Well is a symbol of life,” he said at length, “it is also a graveyard. Are you familiar with the story of its creation, Ratchet?”

It was buried deep in his memory banks, but Ratchet nodded. “It formed where Solus Prime was murdered.”

“Indeed. Solus Prime, the great Creator among us. She lies here, at the core, but she is not the only one. Onyx, the magnificent beast master, mortally wounded and not long for this world, and his dear friend Micronus—”

“I know the legends, Optimus.”

“They are not legends, old friend,” said Optimus, “they are history. They are my memories. I carried Onyx into the Well myself, without knowing for certain I would return.”

Ratchet was quiet. Even the Well’s hum seemed muffled, like it, too, was listening to Optimus.

“You say you know the legends, and so you know why I sacrificed myself then. I do not need to remind you of why I did it the second time.” There was no bitterness in his gentle voice, only a touch of sadness.

“Optimus, please,” Ratchet said, “what is your point?”

Optimus turned his gaze away from the Well and towards Ratchet, his optics bright.

“It has always been my destiny to die for this planet,” he said, “no matter what life I am born into. I have done it twice, and, someday, I may do so again.”

Ratchet shook his head, his hands curling briefly into fists. “We should not tempt fate.”

“I would only die so that those I cared about, would live.”

“But where would that leave them, Optimus?” Ratchet asked. “Where would that leave us? Without a leader, without our friend...call me selfish, but—”

“You mean well, in your selfishness,” Optimus said gently, “I know.”

“Optimus—” Ratchet began again, his voice tight. Optimus knelt, and touched his helm to Ratchet’s.

“I am a servant to Cybertron and her people,” he said, “but my spark, Ratchet, will always belong to you.”

Ratchet closed his optics and felt the pulse of that spark, strong and steady and thrumming in perfect time with the Well, beating in unison with their planet. It was the core of everything he loved. He gripped Optimus’s forearms, tightly at first, then softened.

“I never want to lose you again.”

“I have faith that, no matter what happens in our lifetimes, I will find a way back to you, old friend.”

They stayed there, motionless and quiet, bathed in the soft green glow of the Well. It seemed like no time passed at all—in those long moments, nothing changed. Optimus was strong and alive under Ratchet’s hands, and Ratchet knew, in time, they would surely find peace again, together.

**Author's Note:**

>  _All us  
>  in our own known lives  
> Now have a chance to shine bright  
> and we will all be dancing in that light_  
> -["On A Crescendo"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neYQs1qg2jI)


End file.
